


My Atlantis, We Fall

by TheReluctantBlue



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Story set after Dallon's departure, brendon's pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-03-31 19:38:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13981914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheReluctantBlue/pseuds/TheReluctantBlue
Summary: Brendon turns to the left of the stage as he sings.A reflex. An expectation that he might see the usual figure that stood by that side, playing bass like he always does. The spot is barren. Neither shadow nor light of that person is projected. No reminder of the person who once stood there exist.The only thing that remains is the unspoken words of regret; a piercing noise of a thought that blocks the cacophony of the entire crowd in his ears.'He's gone'.He knew this. He knew but that didn't stop the cascade of harsh reality to crash in the depths of his chest like a raging waterfall.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N:  
> A fanfic about Dallon's departure, all written in Brendon's perspective. This is ENTIRELY fictional, peeps.
> 
> This is suppose to be a oneshot fic but I decided to make it multi chaptered because more things are happening at present (Dallon's Q&As and performance, new music from Panic!, etc.) and I kinda wanted to be as accurate with the timeline as possible but trying to change a few things from reality so there's that.
> 
> No hard feelings on either Brendon or Dallon on what happened, guys. It's a mutual decision. It just so happens that it left a sour taste in our mouths so lets just give them the best of luck on their own paths.
> 
> Hope you guys like this one.
> 
> Initial inspiration for this fic is a song by the two-piece band Seafret called Atlantis.

_"The birds have left their trees_  
_The light pours onto me_  
_I can feel you lying there all on your own"_

_\----_

"Thank you for everything, guys. Thank you for the opportunity you guys gave me with  _Panic_ _!"_

It was bound to happen, sooner or later. An almost decade-worth of stay with the band never really changed Dallon. He's still peculiar but it's probably one of his charms.

The moment he met this man, he and Spencer knew he was  _something_ _,_ despite having a rocky start at introductions between the two of them.

But the moment Dallon turned to him with a bright smile, the first words he said to him is ' _Thank_ _you_ _._ _Thank_ _you for_ _the_ _opportunity_ _.'_

And to think it's the last words he'll ever hear from Dallon again.

It's a mutual decision; a choice he readily agreed to without hesitation once Dallon told him he wanted to leave to pursue his own band. He knew it was about time it happened.

Brendon never questioned Dallon's abilities as a bass player. He's a good musician that knew where he stands. If the older man thinks it's time to let go, then Brendon let's him so he can start with whatever he wanted to produce to the crowd.

"I wish you the best, man." Dan says cordially, giving Dallon a one-armed hug. "Keep in touch, yeah?"

Dallon chuckles, patting Dan on the back. "Of course. Like I'd miss out crashing your wedding, Mr. Pawlovich."

It was easier back then to throw banter with Dallon like that; making a joke with him that they easily got in sync to because the man is usually agreeable and patient about it. Time pretty much strained any chance to do so with the older man. They just drifted apart, and he knew he has some fault in it.

Maybe pushing him away didn't help; maybe acting apathetic didn't really do the trick of avoiding the inevitable moment of his departure. Like no shit.

"No forgetting us if you get famous, Dal." Kenny supplies good-naturedly with a smile.

"I doubt I'll get famous." Dallon responds with a chuckle. He takes a hesitant glance at Brendon, then turns back to Kenny with a smile. "But I doubt I'll even forget you guys."

Brendon didn't know what that look meant. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was something. But he didn't have time to muse on it the moment Dallon stopped in front of him with a respectable amount of distance between them.

A distance that could be considered formal. Like strangers meeting for the first, and last time.

The brunette held up his hand for a handshake. Not a hug. Just a handshake with a tight smile. It didn't feel fair, but he has no right to complain. "Thank you for giving me this chance. I owe you everything."

The words were genuine despite his stiff posture while facing him. It makes him smile, somewhat. Things are about to change, but maybe his awkwardness will stay that way.

"Spence and I needed a bassist and you proved yourself. It's only natural we'd take you." It sounded like a compliment, in between the line of being arrogant. But it's the truth. Dallon proved himself and he proved it well. "Thanks for staying."

Brendon closed his mouth before he could say anything else. Anything close to the words ' _Don't leave_ ', ' _Just stay',_ and  _'I'm sorry'._ He's not going to say it. Even to his surprise that Dallon actually lasted almost a decade playing bass for the band, he knew this is bound to happen.

Why waste an effort to stop it?

That's where it ends. Dallon just needs to announce it on his social media and it will be officially over.

Even with Dallon's presence now gone an hour ago, he feels confused. Usually, it would be mixed feelings that cloud over his mind. But it's strange; the feeling of  _feeling nothing._

The fans will be on an uproar the moment Dallon makes the post about his departure. He knew a storm will be brewing at anytime, creating all sorts of ridiculous drama that isn't even factual at all. People would probably be speaking trash about him and how he's been treating Dallon unfairly or some shit.

He knew it will happen. It always does.

Dallon, the underdog. Dallon, the guy who was treated unfairly by Brendon Urie. Treating as if Dallon's some saint. He's not. He made some flaws.

It made his blood boil. People villainizing him when it comes to Dallon. He couldn't stand it.

 _"Don't overthink it."_ He posted on Twitter. A warning.

 _'It's good that he's gone.'_ Brendon thought. Less drama, no more handling fans who are high up Dallon's ass. It's over and he's thankful it's done with.

_"I owe you everything."_

The soft voice of the man that just left echoes in his ears. Words that were said out of genuine gratitude. Kindness.

He scrunches his eyes shut, covering it with his arm as he lies on the sofa. He hates how it affects him. He's gone. He's gone and he won't hear it again. Not for a long time.

It's done.

****

" _We got here the hard way_  
_All those words that we exchange_  
_Is it any wonder things get broke?"_

\----

_'I'm grateful for the chance I've had to be part of Panic! At The Disco for nearly a decade.'_

Brendon rereads the letter again, trying to reel in the words written in a single post. He shouldn't be surprised that Dallon would express his gratitude.

Dallon  _should_  be grateful.

He really should be. They would have chosen just about anyone to play bass for them.

_'_ **_He's a good choice, Bren._ ** _'_

Spencer's words ring against his ear. It was an approval. And knowing that it came from Spencer is a big thing; coming from a guy who's hardly impressed.

Honestly, Brendon couldn't imagine anyone playing for them at that time other than Dallon. An awkward giant with a weird sense of humor that's oddly charming for everyone around him. His words are minimal, but they're always a one-liner best quip.

What made them change? He always liked Dallon. Even if they have different views and beliefs, Dallon is undoubtedly a good man.

Perhaps he was too complacent. He thought everything was fine. The teasing, the jokes... It finally took Dallon to snap before he realized he was hurting him.

And he took it out of proportion. Scathingly.

Brendon never considered himself as a good man. He'd already forsaken beliefs for the higher power and had cursed where his mouth is free to do so. Hell, even a  _good man_ like Dallon isn't as good enough for some Heaven out there, for all he knows.

But he was, and  _still,_ a better person than Brendon ever considered himself to be when it comes to the matters of the heart. And he honestly stopped caring about what people thought of him. He's not a good person.

**_'You're a good man, Bren_ ** _._ **_'_ **

Though Spencer-and maybe Dallon too-actually considered the thought, once a upon a time.

" _I will always consider myself indebted to those who made me feel welcome to be a part of P!ATD."_

Brendon wants to question the extent of that gratitude. This could all be just for show; a guise to grant the people's perception of him as someone good. He wants to question it. He really does.

But he's not Dallon. How would he know?

" _You changed my life."_

Those words struck him. A wholesome, four-worded phrase that could be for someone,  _anyone_ that's not him.

But for all the pride of him, that selfish pride of him that he couldn't deny in which he  _hopes-_ or at least- _pretends_ that maybe... Just maybe, those four words were meant for him. And just for him.

"Pathetic." Brendon mutters in distaste for his thoughts; a tone of bitterness over the inevitable, the impossible.

" _Thank you all."_

**_'Thank you, Bren.'_ **

Just pathetic.

****

" _"Cause in my heart and in my head_  
_I'll never take back the things I said_  
_So high above, I feel it coming down_  
_She said, in my heart and in my head_  
_Tell me why this has to end_  
_Oh, no, oh, no_ "

\----

He knew Dallon's departure was brewing up a storm from the distance. It was obvious.

_'Dallon just unfollowed Brendon on Twitter!'_

_'Oh god did he really unfollow him???'_

It's pretty ironic, really. He was just talking about how he and Dallon had no bad blood the other day on a livestream. And he said it like he meant it.

You can say all you want to the fans that everything is okay and they'll believe you. Because it's your words alone that set a testament to that; no one can bend your words.

Telling everyone that there's nothing wrong between him and Dallon is easy. It's so easy.

But making himself believe that they are okay is  _not._

_'Brendon unfollowed him on IG so I don't blame Dal'_

They knew too much. They look into things too deeply. The level of devotion they have is either surreal, or terrifying.

Acting like he doesn't care is better.

Responding with silence is the only thing he could do, fans be damned, he's only human.

Brendon clicks on Dallon's profile and the rumors have confirmed it. He's not following him anymore.

A bubbling anger simmers in his chest.  _'Coward.'_

It's not his problem if Dallon couldn't deal with the situation better. He was dumb enough to not to realize that the fans might suspect something and make everything a bigger issue.

Brendon moves his thumb, hovering over the 'Unfollow' both close to Dallon's name.

It's no use being connected to someone who doesn't want to be a part of his life.

But instead, he presses on the Direct Message button and scrolls the previous messages back from their early discussions.

_'Thanks to you and Spencer for having me.'_

Brendon scrolls up, seeing the start of friendship blooming from their chats. And each time Dallon has a chance, he never fails to express his gratitude when he remembers it.

But it just gradually changes, and there's nothing he could do about it now.

Brendon closes his Twitter and sighs. Dallon could do what he wants. Let the fans think what they want.

As he hides his face behind his hands, he repeats the words  _'I don't care anymore'_ like a mantra; a blanket of protection from the thoughts he doesn't want to think about.

The image of disappointment written in Dallon's face flashes behind his eyes and it churns his stomach, just from the memory.

He deals with this everyday. Why should Dallon leaving affect him?

Why?

 _"It will always be your choice, Brendon."_ He remembers the way Dallon spoke those words after an argument.

There was no hint of anger in his tone. Just... resignation.

_"There's nothing I can do about it.'_

Brendon scrunches his eyes shut, and sighs shakily. There's nothing he could do about it.

Not anymore.

****

_"I can't save us, my Atlantis, we fall_  
_We built this town on shaky ground_

\----

"Dallon told me he's gonna be on tour next month."

Brendon overhears it from Dan, but he doesn't react to it. For all they know, they can't hear him because he's working on new music in his laptop. It's not his concern anymore.

It shouldn't be.

"Good for him, yeah? I know he was itching to make new stuff. He was happy when he was in the creative process for  _Too Weird To Live."_ Kenny explains. He sounded too pleased for Brendon's ears, but he still shouldn't care.

"But he always prioritized the tour, so he didn't really have too much time to make new stuff until he..." Kenny pauses, suddenly conscious on where the conversation is taking.

_'Until he was dropped out from the process.'_

_'Until he was demoted.'_

Brendon finishes it with his thoughts. But he not angry about it, if that's what Kenny wants to insinuate.

Dan only hums in response, clearly trying to thread his words carefully knowing Brendon's there. "It's different, you know? His presence not being here. Even though he's usually quiet, you just know it feels different without him in it."

"Yeah, yeah. And usually he's the type of guy where you can just be silent with and it doesn't feel uncomfortable, you know?" Kenny says with warmth, probably tinged with wistfulness at the missing companion.

He could feel a hesitant gaze being directed at him. But he pretends he doesn't hear. He can pretend the music in his ears keep playing, staring at his laptop screen that barely moved.

He can pretend.

"You think Bren will be okay?"

Brendon clenches his hand from his side; somewhere Kenny and Dan can't see from the room. What makes him think he's not okay?

"That's... not for us to know, Dan. It's not our business but..."

Good of them to know it's not their business. They have no right to pry on his business and just-

"But we promised Dallon we'd watch over him. You know how he is." Kenny says softly, rather fondly with exasperation.

And for the things he can do to pretend, he can't deny that Dallon's concern for him-even with any sense of friendship between them crumbling-made his chest hurt. A mixture of guilt, regret and his longed affection hidden from the back of his mind swirling an emotional tide in his chest.

"And we'll be there for Bren when he needs us. Just one step at a time, yeah?" Kenny says. He sounds hopeful. He says it like  _everything_ will be okay in the end.

"One step at a time." Dan mirrors in agreement. It warms his heart.

And maybe, Brendon can bring himself to the illusion that it will be alright. One day.

\----

" _I can't save us, my Atlantis, oh, no_  
_We built it up to pull it down_ "


	2. 2

_"Do you find it hard to wake up sometimes?"_

_"What do you mean?"_

_It was something Brendon got used to. A little. It's the random things that Dallon does that made him wonder about the older man._

_Just what runs through his head?_

_Clearing his throat, Dallon shook his head. His eyes focus on the barren arena with a pensive look on his face._

_"I-I mean, do you just wake up and feel like you're tired? Like everything's been too much?"_

_Brendon turns to him questioningly. But the inquiry somehow gave him thought. Waking up to everything you dreamed of isn't something you can get tired to. Not really. If things get hard, you just have to deal with it._

_That's how he explains it to Dallon._

_Yet somehow, he only receives a smile._

_If he only looked closer to see how sad that smile was, he might have noticed—realized, that things were starting to crumble._

_Even if he did notice, even when he should have, he had no idea how to stop it._

_****_

Brendon opens his eyes, gazing at the ceiling with a tired sigh.

He started realizing what Dallon meant back then. Waking up feeling tired. Waking up feeling like everything's too much.

Just too much.

He wonders if it was a warning, or if it's something Dallon foresaw due to his years in the music industry. Long years even before  _Panic!_ started.

The brunette faced disappointment and different types of rejection on all its possible form. He knew what it's like. And for every sharpen words of negativity, he knew this is how it carved the man's self-esteem. Woven and shaped into a form of beauty that Dallon would be so grateful to hide in the eyes of the populace.

Brendon chuckles bitterly at the thought. How ridiculously in contrast they are.

He knew it—the signs of the crumbling foundation of Dallon's pride. Brendon saw it each time but chose to ignore it because he knew it's not his business. It's something he's willing to detach from.

It's not because he doesn't care of the demons in Dallon's head. It's just because he's scared of his own darkness staring up at him in the mirror.

Ignoring it would be better. Preferable.

He just didn't know his ignorance for it made everything worse. For him and for Dallon.

Brendon's hand blindly search for his own phone, just somewhere hidden behind the cushions of his comforter.

His hand grasps at the phone and he looks up at it, staring at the notifications without care.

Request for interviews, meeting with the label, band practice and more adjustments to the new album at the studio. It's a constant cycle of obligation. Something he needs to do.

Brendon blinks up at the messages.

When did making music stop being something he  _wants_ to do?

_"Do you just wake up and feel like you're tired? Like everything's been too much?_ "

He parts his lips and sighs. Brendon closed the phone and just limply drops his hand to the side.

Even with the phone vibrating in his fingers, he doesn't feel like answering it.

Tired. Everything is too much.

Yet despite his thoughts, he rises from the bed and he retrieves the towel from where it hangs.

No rest for the weary.

As Brendon opens the shower and lets the water cascade his body, he closes his eyes. He breathes in a sequence, mentally counting each inhale and exhale of his breathing.

It's a dangerous thing to let his mind wander. To let his mind thread through a territory he thought he had long hidden from the very back of his mind.

He thinks about Dallon's solid frame and the way he executes himself on stage. The taller man's charming stage presence has always been one of the things he admired about him. It's very different from the man he knows behind the scenes.

He closes his eyes, imagining Dallon's fit figure in a crisp, detailed suit, playing bass on his side of the stage with confidence and stride. He clearly remembers that figure's warmth fueling the heat of his body close to his with subtle, lingering touches that leave his skin burning. The memories of their lips almost touching imprint on his mind, leaving him yearning, wanting for  _more._

He wonders what it would be like, to claim Dallon's lips for his own in the middle of crowd. Their screams will make an uproar; the crowd will never forget how he took those soft lips that are worth stealing. He will make a point; he will leave a mark for everyone to know that Dallon is his, and his alone.

Just the thought itself fuels his arousal. The heat gets stronger, as the trickling water slides from his skin and moves along with hands, eager to touch himself from just the thoughts of Dallon.

He begins to move his hand gingerly as he touches his length. The slow, sensual slides of his hand gradually become faster, more desperate, as he imagines Dallon's long, lovely hand grasp his own, moving along with him, keeping him steady as he leans his head against the tiled wall with only one thing on his mind.

_Dallon, Dallon, Dallon._

He bites his lips as he feels himself reaching the limit. His moves are turning more wild and uncoordinated as he desperately moves his hips against his hand in seeking that release.

The one thing that sets him off was a whisper in his ear. A hallucination of Dallon's voice whispering words he so longed to hear in his ear. It was impossible. He knows it's not true. And yet, those phantom words made him gasp, releasing the coiling heat in his stomach that is only washed away by the cascading water against his skin.

_'I love you, Bren'_

His mind deceives him, time and time again. It gives him false hope of a dream he knows will never happen, and it hurts him. Just like a knife being stabbed, twisted inside his chest to make the pain more dreadful, hurtful, scarring.

The ring on his finger is a constant reminder that the water can never wash away the looming guilt of having such feelings for someone. He has a loving wife that waits for him in his home, and yet, his heart seeks another. Someone that he knew from the beginning that he can never have.

And whether the sob that leaves his lips were unintentional, or even if the prickling wetness behind his eyes exist, he doesn't care because no one will know.

No one will know how the waters washed the tears away. No one will hear his cries in the solace of his own room, far away from home.

Alone.

_"Do you just wake up and feel like you're tired?_ "

He's alone.

" _Like everything's been too much_?"

"I do."

And to whom he answered that question for, the world will never know.

****

Keeping himself busy with the new album has been has been helpful, despite being somewhat temporary to keep his thoughts at bay.

But it helps. It really does.

Though the topic of departure seems to be simmering down a bit, he's aware it's not something that would die down after a year.

A musician's presence in a band over almost a decade does not simply fade after a year. He knows this, and he can't blame the fans for that.

His phone vibrates against the work table, indicating a call from someone. He took the phone to see Spencer calling him.

It took a few months for his smile to feel genuine. And for Spencer to call him right now, he knows that it is.

_"Bren? Hey buddy."_

The voice of his friend warms him. And that warmth shows from the tone of his voice. "Spence. It's so nice to hear from you, man."

_"Glad to know you miss me that much."_ Spencer chuckles over the line. The fact that Spencer is still there for him after everything is something, at least.

He never really lost any connection to Spencer ever since he decided to take a break in the band. They talk to each other whenever they can and whenever their schedules fit for it.

When they try to catch up, whatever Spencer knows of him now doesn't really need to be said, because the other man could only hear his voice and Spencer already knows something is up. And Brendon can never really hide anything from the brunette when he decides it's a good time for a 'talk'.

But he doesn't really mind because Spencer listens and lets him talk until he's finished. The other man would pause for a bit in thought, and responds with an opinion that would make sense, or just something to kick some sense in him.

But he should have known that  _talk_ would be one of these days.

_"Hey, so... are you keeping in touch with Dallon?"_ Spencer asked, rather carefully as if he's aware it's sensitive question.

How does Spencer do it, he will never know.

"Not really. Busy, remember?" He says, trying off as nonchalant as he can muster.

Brendon could hear his friend sigh. Either it's out of disappointment for his petulant behavior or something else, he doesn't call on it.

_"Is it really 'Busy' or 'Busy keeping myself busy' kind of busy?"_

Brendon rolls his eyes at his friend's insinuation. "I'm doing something productive in my life. Better?"

_"I guess."_

Spencer didn't fail being cheeky when he wants to but he's not complaining if it means they could avoid a serious topic.

But avoiding it doesn't seem to be for him today.

_"I heard he's planning on releasing something new. Surprisingly, you're planning on releasing new music too. You sure you guys didn't plan this or something?"_

Brendon hums in confirmation. He wonders if Dallon plans to release it when he does. If they happen to release it on the very same day, that would have been insanely coincidental.

"You think both of us still have time to talk about the weather?"

He could already imagine Spencer shrugging from the other line, an amusing smile gracing the brunette's lips.

_"Honestly, I was hoping you guys will. Just talk about anything. Heck, you can even talk about how Bogart took shit on your couch again and laugh about it, just like old times."_

Brendon remembers that, quite a long time ago at a night on the bar. He remembers nursing himself a drink with Dallon and Spencer. He remembers, vaguely, leaning against Dallon's solid frame as he laughs and laughs without a care in the world. A drink might have spilled a bit on Dallon's suit, post-performance, but the said man only smiles warmly, laughs softly; all the world's patience given to a single man who could have pushed him off.

But he never did.

Until now.

"Can you give us some time? You know it's not... It won't be—" Brendon bites his lips, and would rather have it bleed. He knows it won't work. It won't.

It will never be the same.

**_"Don't waste time on people that don't care about you."_ **

He saw it in Dallon's words. That deep seated feeling that he never says vocally. It's something he's probably been keeping inside and the words only reveal themselves in fruition now. Brendon didn't need to know who Dallon was talking about on that Twitter post, because he knew.

He knew, and he couldn't even blame the guy. He probably laughed it off harshly the first time he saw it, but reality never does sit well on anyone.

It took a few moments after a Twitter post to realize  _'This is the damage I've done',_ and he can never turn it back _._

_"I know, Bren."_ Spencer responds softly, somehow feeling the turmoil of his emotions from the other line.  _"I know."_

Silence envelops their talk, and he knows that's it. It's Spencer's way of expressing that he understands it will never be that easy to take back what is lost.

Even as they end their call with a cordial goodbye and an invitation to hang-out, the world never stops. He's always in the feeling of hanging on a broken bridge with a severed line, with only a few worn out rope he can hold on to keep him from falling.

And no one will be there to catch him when the rope breaks.

He turns his attention back to his table, full of new songs and sound that the world is waiting for.

If it felt like he's going back to a war, he doesn't acknowledge it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my first explicit writing written in this chapter and I'm nervous hahaha. I used lots of metaphors and stuff to make me less uncomfortable in writing it. I hope it wasn't weird.
> 
> Time for me to broaden my horizons, and all that. Anyway, thanks for reading and have a swell day!


End file.
